I grew up celebrating the birth of Jesus. The stockings were hung, the tree was trimmed, packages were lovingly wrapped, and tantalizing foods were prepared. Wreaths adorned the doors and lights illuminated each window of the house.

We counted down the weeks of advent at dinner each night by lighting candles of purple and pink. We set a ceramic baby Jesus upon a table surrounded by angels singing. We attended church on Christmas Eve.  We sang “O Holy Night”. We were scooted off to bed anticipating the surprises that would be waiting beneath the tree come morning. Family gathered on Christmas Day and we joyously celebrated the birth of God’s only son.  It was a wonderfully warm and cozy time.

But why?

Why did we celebrate?

I never fully understood why this child’s birth mattered to the world.

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Picture a 12-passenger van filled to overflowing.

Every nook, cranny, and crevice utilized.

Stuffed animals, pillows, parkas, and parcels disappear into spaces we’ve created out of nothing.

We even have an impressively large Nesco cooker stuffed between the front two seats, the inside accommodating snow pants.

Where are we headed?

Onward to Massachusetts, for the second leg of our journey, to visit some of our favorite peeps.

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We wrapped up a long week of driver’s education, wrestling, schoolwork, laundry, and last-minute gift buying.

We headed for New England while the rest of the Eastern Seaboard slept.

It’s not that it’s easy for us to travel for the holidays…

but when reality stares you down, and you understand that none of us are promised tomorrow,

that we’re all really living on borrowed time (especially my dad),

you go.

Simple as that.

There will always be exhaustion, chaos, and, of course,

plenty of germs to be shared.

Just comes with the territory of a large family traveling.

But I promise you, there will also be moments of tenderness, joy, connection, and togetherness,

with the circle of people you have been called to love.

Memories that will be etched forever in your heart.

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